


Supernova

by shinigami714



Series: The Solar System [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Confusion, Homelessness, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Poverty, Rebirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami714/pseuds/shinigami714
Summary: For a few moments everything was peaceful.  All he could see was a blinding white light, and his mind was finally clear.  He was free.  Until he wasn't.Directly follows the events of Light of the Moon.  Please read that first :).





	

**Author's Note:**

> That transition scene I meant to write ages ago but am doing it now instead. Ehhhhh. This should probably be part two of the Solar System Series instead of three. Also I edited this while playing Civ VI, so it might not be perfect!

For a few moments everything was peaceful.  All he could see was a blinding white light, and his mind was finally clear.  He was free.  Like a bird, floating above the earth without a care, the clouds the only embrace upon his wings, the wind lightly ruffling through his feathers.  And then he was falling, his stomach lurching as everything turned dark and all he could feel was pain.  It seared through his entire body, rushing down his limbs and up the back of his neck.  He wanted to scream, but his throat closed off, and all he could do was grit his teeth and tense against it.

He woke with a start, short of breath.  Kíli flailed his arms wildly and a garbage can fell away from him with a clang.  A cat screeched somewhere deep in the alley spread out before him, and he was left in shock, gasping for air on the cold cement.  There was a rank smell, urine probably. He was cold, so very cold, and for a few long seconds he had absolutely no idea where he was. 

And then suddenly it was all rushing back.  The memories. Hundreds of them.  He was in a house, an old house, and there was his family.  He remembered hands on his throat, choking on a necklace, pain, so much pain, but then it was gone, and all that remained was a lingering sadness.  The cold was incredible.  He was used to it, and yet, now it was magnified, it was real.  And a part of him remembered that too. Remembered long nights spent sleeping in bus shelters and boxes, on street curbs and shielded by little more than the wedge in the side of a building. But the other part of him was numb to it, found comfort in that sort of cold, and why were his fingers shaking when it was just his reality.  Just a part of him.  Had been for years. 

Until…until _him_.

A shadow of a figure emerged in his mind.  Kíli remembered broad shoulders, a strong jaw framed with wiry strands.  A hint of heat that compelled him closer.  But it was the eyes that entranced him, blue, bottomless, full of concern and…love? What was his name? 

He needed to find him.  Needed to hear his voice, the only thing that kept him sane.  He needed…he needed to vomit. 

Kíli threw himself away from the pile of torn up blankets and stuffed bags that made up his living space.  He gagged and hacked against the nearest brick wall as his stomach rebelled against him.   He puked until his throat ached, and there was nothing left to come up.  Until he was exhausted from the strain of it, heaving and pressing his brow against the cold stone.  Tears came to his eyes, and Kíli scrunched up his brow at the unfamiliar wet feeling across his cheeks. 

He thought his head might explode.  So many images rushing to the forefront of his mind.  He couldn’t make sense of them all.  They didn’t connect.  It was like none of them existed within the same universe.  Like he was a million people stuck in the body of one.  There was violence and anger, someone beating him up and throwing him in the gutter.  He saw his family, for a second, or what could have been, and then that was gone, replaced by a bony hand that offered him a bowl with hardly anything in it.  Hands touching him, in ways he didn’t want.  Hands not touching, in the ways he desperately wanted them to.  He was sobbing, the tears leaving cold tracks along his skin.  His vision blurred and he blinked rapidly until it was somewhat clear.  With a shake of his head Kíli stood on unsteady legs, hobbling towards the end of the alley and near the unnatural light barely visible ahead.  He shivered as his body left the shelter of the buildings, cold wind blowing over his face and neck. 

Something flew by him, a streak of red flashing before his eyes, a loud roaring noise to go along with it.  Kíli plastered himself against the bricks, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to make sense of it. 

A car.  It was only a car.  He’d seen hundreds of them, they were little more than part of his everyday surroundings. But…it was so very different from the cars he remembered.  That kind of speed could easily kill a person.  Why on earth would anyone get in something that moved that fast?  A little voice told him there were things that went even faster.

The light above him flickered and he jerked his head up and eyed it suspiciously.  There were flashing signs visible for miles down the street, advertisements for bars and clubs that Kíli walked past every day, and at the same time, had never seen before.   

None of this was right, and it couldn’t possibly be real.  It just couldn’t. He didn’t like this place.  Not at all.

Somewhere deep inside that voice told him to suck it up.  That this was the best he had, and if he wanted to live for another day he’d find something to eat and a hole to crawl in for the rest of the night.  And that’s when he noticed the ever increasing pain in his gut.  Hunger. 

His fingers trembled against the stone wall, practically numb where they poked out of the end of frayed leather gloves.  Kíli squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in deep.  There was far too much going on inside his head.  He needed to sit down and sort it all out.  Separate his thoughts from one another and make sense of what was happening to him.  But first…he needed to get help. 

The brunet pushed away from the wall and hobbled down the sidewalk warily, trying to control the shaking of his body.  He looked at his surroundings desperately, hoping it might help him figure out where he was.  A woman passed by, sparing him little more than a disdain filled glance, and Kíli held his tongue.  He’d get no help from her.  His head turned towards the nearest storefront, and he spotted his reflection, wide brown eyes staring back at him, deeply etched in a somewhat familiar face. 

Yes.  That was his face.  He recognized it, even with the slight differences.  His hair was a bit shorter, and unkempt, but his skin was just as pale as ever.  He was thinner than he remembered, older too.  Or maybe just tired, it was hard to say.  His nose was the same, his eyebrows just as fierce.  It wasn’t exactly as he remembered, but the familiarity comforted him, and he latched on to it and managed to slow his shaking. 

Kíli tried to remember the last person he spoke to, the last thing he did, and a part of him knew… _knew_ that it was trading a pack of cigarettes for something to eat with the strange old man at the corner of Fifth and Maple Ridge, but then there was someone else.  Those blue eyes again, a soft expression, blond scruffy hair, warmth…warmth he hadn’t felt in…ten…no hundreds of years.  And what?  What was wrong with him?

It had to be real, it had to. 

The necklace, the grave, the swings. He remembered it all.  He wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t.  He was _not_ crazy.

He knew those woods.  Even in this life.  Of course he did.  They’d even been his home once…except he’d never had a home, had he? He remembered running through the leaf covered pathways in autumn, skipping alongside the river with his mother in the Spring.  His father, sitting beneath a tree, watching as he played.  The same man that killed him.  Was he…dead? He reached up towards his neck, touching the skin beneath his scarf delicately.  His pulse throbbed along with his heartbeat.  There was no doubt that he was alive.  Clearly some kind of madness had infected him.

Two men exited a bar nearby, laughing loudly as they slumped over one another.  They made eye contact with the brunet for a second before strolling in his direction on rickety legs.  Kíli tried his best to stay invisible, he’d always been good at that. He lowered his gaze, held his breath, pressed his body back even further against the wall. It didn’t prevent one of them from reaching out and grabbing at his ragged coat.

“How much for those lips on my cock?” the man breathed against his neck, and Kíli swatted at the hand and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to back away.  He turned tail and fled, running down the street even as a voice cried out after him.

“Bitch!”

Kíli ignored the shouts behind him, skittering through tiny pathways like he had done so hundreds of times before.  He jumped a fence between two buildings, squeezed his thin body through a crevice in a wall and exited on the other side.  There was a dumpster nearby, but no sign of strangers, and he sighed and gathered himself to the best of his ability.  There were so many images rushing through his mind, it was difficult to latch on to any single one, but there was something that was clear, something he could remember nearly every detail of.

The old house, with rooms that held many secrets, and the man that looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world.  No one had ever looked at him like that.  He was trash.  He was nothing but a street rat, thrown away long before he had a chance to even form words. He needed that, desperately.  He wanted to feel loved like that more than anything in the world.  

He could find the house.  He could find him.  He had to.  It was the only thought that kept him breathing.

Kíli ignored the ever growing pain of hunger in his stomach, figuring another night without food would have little effect on his already malnourished body.  Instead he headed South, hands stuffed in his pockets as his legs worked hard to carry him toward the woods.  It was a long walk.  He’d done it only a couple times before, but if he kept at it he knew he’d get there before sunrise.  And he absolutely needed to be there as soon as possible.  It was like his heart was set on it, like there was no other alternative, like if he didn’t get there he wouldn’t make it through the day. 

Truthfully, that was always a possibility with his lifestyle.  The streets were cruel.  He’d seen his fair share of dead bodies left at the curb.  The cold nights took anyone who showed a moment of weakness, and the gangs and junkies took the rest.

He ignored the voice screaming at him internally.  Lecturing him for giving up valuable scrounging time.  The best moments to pickpocket were just after the bars closed.  The late night patrons downtown were drunk, uncoordinated, and easily swayed.  They were careless with their wallets and their phones.  It was how he managed to get by for so long on so little.  And his pockets were dangerously empty of change.  Kíli picked at the hole in the bottom of his left one nervously.  It was taunting him, trying to urge him to go back to the false security of his cardboard box.  His chest tightened at the mere thought, so he continued on his way.

The city dwindled, the street changing to a dirt one as he ventured further into the outskirts.  It was quiet, and dark, and he tried his best not to flinch every time a car zoomed past him on the road.  Eventually he spotted the skinny pathway that led into the forest, and he paused for only a moment before following it.  There were wild animals he should have been afraid of.  There could have been killers, or rapists, or teens high off their minds waiting in the shadows for some hapless sap to walk by.  It was downright stupid to walk alone in the woods at night.  But he couldn’t stop.  His feet moved almost on their own, despite the shin splints running up his legs, and the searing pain in his heels.  He was completely exhausted, but there was no way he could sleep in such a state.

When he reached the little bridge that crossed over the river his heart rate quickened. All it took was one step onto the slats and his throat constricted.  Flashes of another life inundated him.  Screaming, and anguish.  Loneliness, eternal silence, and absolute desperation.  He fell to the ground, his fingers scuffing against the worn wooden planks, nails catching on his dry skin.  He pushed himself back up roughly, then stumbled to the other side of the river before taking off at a run.  He just had to follow the water.  It wouldn’t lead him astray. 

He ran blindly, eyes blurred again with unshed tears, and his breaths became ragged and painful.  He felt every step in his spine, every ache deep within his soul, and he cried out as his foot missed the ground altogether and his right leg fell into a gaping hole.  The impact with the forest floor winded him, and Kíli cringed as his nails clawed at the dirt around him.  He eased himself out of the ditch, and rolled flat on his back, staring up at the looming willow branches above.

His head tilted as he refocused his sight, taking in the old tree with weary eyes.  He knew that tree.  He knew where he was.  He was so close!  So close to home!

Without a second thought Kíli rolled over and dragged his body upright, veering off at an angle that he knew would go directly to the mysterious house so clear in his mind.  His surroundings passed by in a rush, leaves brushing through his hair, branches scratching at his face.   His scarf caught on something and he tugged at it wildly, grunting as he pulled himself free and hurried on.   He was near sobbing when the leaves began to lessen in proximity, and the sight of a large home greeted him.  It was just as he remembered. The shutters freshly painted, the hedges trimmed.  The yard was large and sloping, and there!  Just to his right!  There was the swing set he so often sat on as he looked at the stars in wonder.  They were clear above him, far more vivid than he’d ever seen in the city, and Kíli stepped slowly into the yard as he looked up above like he always had in a different life long ago.

Kíli dropped his gaze, and his dark irises latched onto the plain gravestones set into the ground nearby.  His breath hitched as he stepped closer, reading the names with wide eyes.  His mother.  His father.

There was a fresh grave too, flowers decorating the top, but no marker like the others.  It felt strange to step near, because subconsciously he knew who that grave belonged to.  And yet…he was standing before it instead of rotting beneath the ground. Kíli knelt close, running his fingers through the loose soil in a decorative pattern, writing his name with intricate movements until he got caught on the chain resting atop the grave.  The metal was cold to the touch and he lifted it carefully in his palm, revealing a necklace that had once hung around his neck.  He ran a thumb across the top before tightening his hold around it.  He was having trouble breathing again.  On the verge of a panic attack.  His eyebrows scrunched together on his face and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

What was he thinking rushing out to the woods in the middle of the night?  What was going on?  Was he alive?  Was he dead?  Was he insane?  He trembled all over, and wrapped his arms tight around his own body.  He was so very cold.  He hated being cold.

Kíli stood uneasily and made his way to the swing.  He sat on it gingerly, gripped one of the chain links fiercely in his hand, like he was holding on for dear life. 

It squeaked.

He remembered that too.  And for hours Kíli sat and swung, staring at the back door to a house he should have been able to walk into but knew he couldn’t.  Not really.  It wasn’t his.  Not anymore.  It wasn’t.  And yet it was.  And so he sat.  His heart beating so loud he thought it might consume him.  But he was used to waiting.  And hours were nothing.  He’d spent days, years alone, waiting, for nothing and everything. 

The sun rose and there he still sat, rocking away as the birds began to sing. There was a loud clatter, the sound of a door flinging open, and then a voice that sent shivers running down his back. He turned, and was greeted with those blue eyes that he remembered so well, and at the same time, had never seen before in his life.

_Fíli._

Everything…everything was going to be okay.


End file.
